


For All Sad Words

by Finduilas88



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas88/pseuds/Finduilas88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the circumstances were a little different when Éowyn met Aragorn in Edoras?</p>
            </blockquote>





	For All Sad Words

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot I previously posted on ff.net, but I get the impression that this site is much more 'M' friendly. ;-) Hope you enjoy it--comments are very welcome!
> 
> Setting is movieverse, so Aragorn believes Arwen is sailing to the West.

It was a good dream. Soft lips caressed his, and a hand trailed down his cheek to rest on his chest. He reveled in the feeling; this dream had come to him before during the long weeks and months of separation from his ladylove, but rarely this vividly. Dream-Arwen kissed him again, more urgently, and when he touched her shoulders he found warm, bare flesh under his hands. Aragorn gasped in surprise and there was an answering gasp of pleasure from his dream lady as she pressed her body firmly against him.

He struggled to awaken, both aroused and alarmed by the feel of her lying heavy and warm against his chest. _This_ had certainly never happened in a dream before! His mind confused by the blurring of dream and reality, he opened his eyes, not knowing what to expect, though in his heart of hearts was the vain hope he would find a fall of dark hair and Arwen’s beautiful face close to his. Before he could make sense of what he was seeing, she kissed him again, and he reacted instinctively, deepening the kiss.

It was only then that Aragorn realized that the hair falling like a veil around him was not dark, but golden blonde, and the face one he did not immediately recognize. He cried out softly in shock and released her, finally remembering where he was—in Rohan, and the lady was Éowyn, the king’s maiden niece.

“Éowyn?” he asked in disbelief, “What…what are you doing? Why are you here?”

She met his eyes boldly, seemingly not at all embarrassed to be found in such a compromising position. “I would think that was obvious, my lord,” she answered with a hint of challenge in her voice. “And you seemed to be enjoying it.”

“I thought you were Arwen!” he exclaimed, his voice low and urgent.

“Oh, is that her name?” she murmured a little wistfully. “I had not heard it before.” During this exchange Éowyn had not moved, she was still draped across his chest, her face close to his.

“Her name does not matter—you should not be here! Release me immediately!” he insisted.

“As you wish,” she replied easily, and to Aragorn’s great relief she leaned back and shifted her weight so she was no longer lying against him. The room was dark, but enough moonlight streamed through the window for him to now see what she was wearing; a sleeveless nightdress laced tightly across her breasts, but otherwise flowing and of fabric so thin it was readily apparent she was wearing nothing whatsoever underneath. It was a garment designed to entice and arouse rather than conceal, as a bride might wear on her wedding night.

But before he could do or say anything more, she moved again, pulling up the skirt of her nightdress to untangle it and revealing a tantalizing glimpse of blonde hair between her legs. In the next moment she swung one leg across Aragorn to sit astride him, positioning herself quite deliberately against his groin. Earlier that day he had been pleased when he was given a room to himself since it meant he could sleep without his breeches for the first time in weeks. Now that decision made matters worse—there was only the thin linen of his underclothes between Éowyn’s flesh and his.

She began moving rhythmically against him, caressing his manhood with her body. The effect was immediate; he groaned aloud in a mixture of arousal and dismay. Éowyn smiled and leaned forward, pushing up his shirt with her hands, stroking the hard muscles of his chest. “Is this what your lady does to please you?” she whispered, her gaze hot on his face.

“No!” he gasped, “We have never… I _would_ never…” Realizing that the situation was rapidly spinning out of control, he grabbed her wrists as firmly as he could without hurting her, and met her eyes. “You will stop this, now, or I will stop it!” he demanded.

She stared at him defiantly, “I don’t think it would be prudent to try and force me, my lord. After all, I might cry out and draw attention, or be seen leaving your room. The circumstances would be very…difficult to explain.”

“But you came to my room, dressed to seduce me!” he countered, stunned at her audacity.

“An innocent girl, naïve and trusting, and an older man, wise in the ways of the world. Who would not believe that she was lured to his room by sweet promises of love?”

He released her wrists, finally understanding how powerless he was. If they were found in their current state; she dressed for a wedding night and he half-dressed and aroused—simple enough for her to arrange, if she wished—there was no explanation that he could offer that would convince anyone of his innocence. Even if by some miracle he could persuade someone to believe the truth, exposing the king’s niece as a wanton ready to offer herself to a man she barely knew would win him no friends in Rohan.

Sensing victory, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips and began moving against him once again. As he searched his thoughts desperately for a way to dissuade her from this course of action, his arousal increased. He found himself staring avidly at her breasts, the nipples standing up tight and hard against the cloth, evidence of her own pleasure. Éowyn followed his gaze and smiled, murmuring, “You only need ask, my lord.” She quickly untied the lacings that held the bodice together, and pulled the fabric down so her breasts could spill out. Although not overly large, they were firm and shapely, and his cock stiffened further at the sight. She bent close to his ear and whispered, “Touch me.”

He ached to do just that, but knew he should not. “No! I…I cannot,” he replied.

“Oh, I think you’ll find you can,” she chuckled, and took one of his hands and placed it, unresisting, on her breast. With no conscious decision on his part his other hand joined the first and soon he was cupping both breasts in his hands; fondling them and rubbing the hard nipples while Éowyn arched her back and moaned with pleasure.

“Why, Éowyn?” he pleaded, “Why are you doing this...tormenting me like this? You know I love another!”

She met his eyes and reached up to caress his cheek. “Aragorn,” she said tenderly, and he realized that it was the first time she had used his name since appearing in his room. “Aragorn, you are tormenting yourself. Why not give me what I want, what we both need?”

“Because it is wrong, Éowyn, I love Arwen!”

“You told me yourself that she has gone west with her people, never to return!” she said fiercely, her eyes blazing, “Is it your plan to say forever true to her memory, and refuse to lie with _any_ woman until the day you die?”

Aragorn fell silent, at a loss for words. In the grief of their parting he had never considered what it would be like to go day after day, year after year without Arwen and without knowing any woman’s touch.

Not waiting for a reply, she left her position astride him just long enough to strip off his underclothes, and then mounted him again in easy reach of his groin. “Your heart may deny me, but your body will not,” Éowyn said confidently, running a hand up the length of his hardening manhood. He was afraid she was right; soon he would be unable to refuse her however much he wished it. She changed her grip and with a few practiced strokes had him harder and more aroused and he had ever been in his life.

She positioned herself above him and placed the tip of his member inside her. Knowing what she intended, he implored her, “Éowyn, we cannot do this, _I_ cannot do this!”

“I think you’ll find that you can do this, too,” she replied with a knowing smile. “and I believe you’ll even enjoy it—I know I will.” With what seemed to him to be agonizing slowness, she began to ease herself onto the hard length of his manhood, her body slippery with arousal. His resistance overcome by the feeling his cock inside her, Aragorn put his hands on her hips and pressed down hard, driving deep within her. Instinct took over, and he began to thrust, exulting in the pleasure it gave to feel himself sliding in her again and again. She was gasping with pleasure now too, eagerly meeting his thrusts and bending down to kiss him hard as he took her.

Her golden hair fell around her as they moved together, across her shoulders onto her bare breasts. He wanted to touch her body, feel her flesh under his hands, but her nightdress was in the way. “Take it off, Éowyn, I want to touch all of you,” he ordered, roughly tugging at the hem and finding warm skin underneath. Between them they soon had it off, and his shirt promptly followed. Now only their need lay between them.

Then something occurred to him that had been in the back of his mind from the beginning. He had always been told that there was pain for a woman the first time she was with a man; but Éowyn showed no sign of pain, only pleasure, and there was certainly no blood. It confirmed what he felt he should have known all along.

“You were no maiden,” he gasped between thrusts, meeting her eyes.

She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them there was a look there he couldn’t quite identify. “No, and I never claimed to be; the others assume it to be true,” she said bluntly. “But now, only you and I will know it,” she added.

Aragorn’s anger flared, was this the reason she had sought him out—to conceal her shame for giving herself to another man? For _this_ she had coerced him into betraying his love for Arwen?

Wanting to punish her in some way but too driven by need to stop, he pulled her forcefully to his chest and held her tight against him. He then turned and pushed her back onto the bed, pinning her with his weight. She made a small noise of surprise but there was no fear or dismay on her face, only eagerness and desire. His member had slipped from her during the move so he swiftly pushed her legs apart and entered her, so hard that the bed creaked under them. It was glorious taking her like this, feeling her body beneath his and he thrust faster with a cry of pleasure.

He leaned close to her as he took her and he kissed her harshly, forcing his tongue inside her mouth. She was undaunted, meeting him kiss for kiss, moaning and winding her fingers in his hair.

“Is this what you wanted, Éowyn?” he whispered, “For me to spread your legs and take you, with no love in my heart, only lust? Like a common whore?”

She met his eyes and pulled him toward her, kissing him fiercely once more before responding. “Yes, Aragorn,” she cried, “yes! If lust is all you have to give me, I will take it and be your whore.”

Then there were no words, only their bodies coming together in mutual desire. She lifted her hips at each thrust so his penetration was complete and his passion mounted. Some part of him knew he should be disgusted that they were abandoning themselves to animal lust, but his need was such that he did not care.

It had been so long since he had been with a woman that his climax was nearly on him before he realized it. Alarmed, he gasped, “Éowyn—I must withdraw!”

Her legs were wrapped around his thighs and she tightened them in response, hissing, “No! Aragorn, I want this!” She cupped his buttocks with her hands and pressed him against her, saying urgently, “Give me this; empty yourself in me!”

His conscience was no match for his need; he had neither the time nor the will to deny her. A few seconds later he climaxed, arching his back and entering her so hard he was certain he must hurt her. A huge wave of pleasure washed over him and he shuddered, releasing his seed into her body with frantic thrusts.

“Yes!” Éowyn cried exultantly, “You are mine, Aragorn, and I am yours. For tonight, you are _mine_.”

Then it was over, his passion spent. He pulled away from her and lay next to her on the tangled blankets, drained of anger as well as lust.

Aragorn glanced over at her; she could not meet his eyes, obviously unsure what to do or say. And although he was uncertain how he would feel in the days and months to come about what had transpired this night, he knew in that moment there was something between them that could not easily be dismissed or denied. With a sigh he pulled her into arms; she stiffened at first in surprise, then relaxed into his embrace.

They lay together for a few moments in silence, until finally he asked gently, “Who was he, Éowyn, the man that…”

“Thank you for assuming there was only one,” she said caustically. Before he could respond her tone softened and she continued, “No, I’m sorry, you did not deserve that. You have no reason to ascribe any virtue to me.” She sighed, answering, “A rider. His name is not important.” Then she repeated, “An older man, wise in the ways of the world. I was indeed lured to his bed with sweet promises of love, and although I don’t pretend any particular innocence, I was clearly naïve and trusting. I did love him, or thought I did, though now I wonder whether it was in part the thrill of having a secret love, and assignations that I knew would horrify my uncle and brother.” She shook her head, “For his part, I no longer know what it was, though at the time I was certain he loved me as well.

“One day he did not return from an orc raid, and I was left with nothing. After all my tears were shed, I realized how fortunate I was he had not left me with child. I do know how to please a man in bed—in that he tutored me well—but that is of questionable value for someone who should be a virgin. I still worried that my secret might be discovered, that my future husband might realize that I am no maiden, as you did. It seemed unlikely that naming a dead man as my lover would be believed; instead it would be assumed I was shielding someone.”

“Ah,” Aragorn said, enlightened, his voice taking on a hard edge, “you needed a living man you could point to, one that would be believed, and importantly, one that would not deny the accusation.”

She pulled away from him and stood, her voice breaking when she spoke, “I’m not proud of what I did, and Béma knows there was no honor in it!” She picked up her nightdress and put it on, as well as a heavy robe he had not noticed before. “I won’t deny I enjoyed being with a man again, but I’m sorry I used you in this way.”

“But why me, and why risk pregnancy again when you had avoided that peril with your first lover?” Aragorn asked, still puzzled.

Éowyn was silent for a moment before explaining, “In part, because you seemed gentle and honorable, and I felt that you would not hurt me or deny what happened between us.” Their eyes met, and Aragorn could see tears welling in hers, “But also because I do love you, whether you choose to believe it or not. You may not be able to give me your heart, but I wanted something of you that your elf maiden has never, and will never have. Now…I have it,” she whispered as she slipped out the door and was gone.

Aragorn lay in the darkened room for a time, struck to the heart by the truth of what she had said. He had shared something with Éowyn that he would never, and now _could_ never have with Arwen. He began to cry softly, though whether it was for his lost love, himself, or the woman that had just left him he could not say with any certainty.

 

 


End file.
